Montana Royalty. B.J. Daniels

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      BJ Daniels wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense, and received many nominations and awards for best book.

      BJ lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.

      To contact her, write to BJ Daniels, PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA or e-mail her at bjdaniels@mtintouch. net. Check out her web page at www.bjdaniels.com.

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       Chapter One

      The narrow slit of light between the partially closed bedroom curtains drew him through the shadowed pines.

      He moved stealthily, the moonless darkness heavy as a cloak. The moment he’d seen the light, realized it came from her bedroom window, the curtains not quite closed, he’d been helpless to stop himself.

      He’d always liked watching people when they didn’t know he was there. He saw things they didn’t want seen. He knew their dirty secrets.

      Their secrets became his dirty little secrets.

      But this was different.

      The woman behind the curtains was Rory Buchanan.

      He began to sweat as he neared the window even though the fall night was cold here in the mountains. The narrow shaft of light from between the curtains spilled out onto the ground. Teasing glimpses of her lured him on.

      As he grew closer, he stuck the wire cutters he carried into his jacket pocket. His heart beat so hard he could barely steal a breath as he slowly stepped toward the forbidden.

      The window was the perfect height. He closed his left eye, his right eye focusing on the room, on the woman.

      Inside the bedroom, Rory folded a pair of jeans into one of the dresser drawers and closed the drawer, turning back toward the bed and the T-shirt she’d left lying on it.

      He didn’t move, didn’t breathe—didn’t blink as she began to disrobe.

      He couldn’t have moved even at gunpoint as he watched her pull the band from her ponytail, letting her chestnut hair fall to her shoulders.

      She sighed, rubbing her neck with both hands, eyes closed. Wide green eyes fringed in dark lashes. He watched breathlessly as she dropped her hands to unbutton her jeans and let them drop to the floor.

      Next, the Western shirt. Like her other shirts and the jackets she wore, it was too large for her, hid her body.

      Anticipation had him breathing too hard. He tried to rein it in, afraid she would hear him and look toward the window. It scared him what he might do if she suddenly closed the curtains then. Or worse, saw him.

      One shirt button, then another and another and the shirt fell back, dropping over her shoulders to the floor at her feet. She reached down to retrieve both items of clothing and hang them on the hook by the door before turning back in his direction.